


Out In The Moonlight (Just Like We Used To Do)

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Age Difference, Humiliation, M/M, Referenced Drug Use, Referenced Sex Work, Rimming, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Throat Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Jim takes a drive out to the quarry. Billy’s already waiting for him.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 14
Kudos: 189





	Out In The Moonlight (Just Like We Used To Do)

The quarry lake is still and clear, with a waxing moon floating high on the horizon. When moonlight strikes water and reflects a band of white, it’s called a singe. It’s one of those inane thoughts, factoids that drift across Jim’s mind when he’s trying not to think about something in particular. In moments of detachment, you notice mundane details. 

Jim remember how stalks of rice ripple in the breeze. He remembers the sound of rain pattering on jungle leaves. He remembers how dry and raw your eyes feel after forty-eight sleepless hours floating down a river in a creaky boat. He tries not to remember anything else. 

Gravel crunches under the tires of his truck. He can hear the music thumping through worn speakers. _Wango Tango_. Ted Nugent. Jim doesn’t like Ted Nugent. Billy Hargrove’s camaro is parked near the shore. Billy himself sits on the hood with a bottle of liquor in his hand, wearing nothing but his lifeguard shorts. His curly blonde hair is damp. He’s smoking a cigarette. 

Jim parks next to him and kills the engine. 

“Heya, Chief.” Billy smiles slow and lazy as soon as Jim gets out of the truck. 

In a normal world, Billy would be scrambling to hide his alcohol. He’d be turning off the music and trying to pretend he wasn’t a delinquent. Instead, he holds out the bottle of Jack Daniels when Jim approaches. Jim takes it and knocks it back. The whiskey burns just enough to break through the surface level numbness that usually blankets Jim in a lethargic fog. 

Just like the cold damp of Billy’s shorts when he brackets Jim’s thighs with his spread legs and tries to haul him down into a kiss. 

“You’re wet.” Jim grunts. Not moving away. 

“What can I say? You get me real worked up. Make my pussy all achy.” Billy sticks his tongue between his teeth. 

Jim tugs at the laces of Billy’s shorts. “These. Get ‘em off.”

“Well, sir yes sir.”

Billy grabs the bottle back and drains the last few gulps of it. He tosses it far—out into the water where it lands with a splash and doesn’t quite sink. He slides out his shorts and kicks them aside, exposing his hard dick. Jim tries not to let it go to his head. Billy’s a teenager that pops a boner from a stiff breeze. Still. Billy’s eager when he grabs the front of Jim’s shirt and once again tries to pull him down. Jim lets it happen this time. He lets Billy lick into his mouth, sloppy and over eager. Billy usually tries to climb Jim like a tree. Billy ain’t that short. Jim’s still got a good six inches on him. It’s not long before Billy’s got his legs wrapped around Jim’s hips and he’s clinging to Jim’s shoulders, and it’s easier to just stand up, take a few steps and pin Billy to the side of the car instead of staying hunched over. 

“Fuck,” Billy groans. “You’re so. Shit. I hate you. Goddamn giant.”

“Eloquent,” Jim snorts.

“You can only pick me up because you’re all. Oversized.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m still stronger than you.”

“Sure.”

“I could kick your ass.”

“Whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

Billy squirms. Pretending to struggle. Not so subtly grinding his erection against Jim’s gut. Jim squeezes Billy’s ass. Spreads it and rubs a finger against his hole. Billy moans. 

“Eat me out? Please? I went swimming. I’m clean.”

“Hmmm.” Jim never thought he’d agree to that sort of thing before he met Billy. Hell, he thought most things faggots got up to were disgusting. 

But Billy shaves his ass. He does keep it real clean. It don’t smell or taste like strawberries and cream, but neither does pussy. 

_“Please.”_ Billy whimpers. “I’ll get you off so hard. I’ll let you fuck my throat. I’ll ride your dick like I’m mad at it.”

“Well. I guess.”

Jim grabs Billy tighter. He steps back, and takes the short walk over to his truck. He pulls the latch and lets the back hatch drop. He’s taken to keeping some blankets and pillows spread over the truck bed. He sets Billy down. Billy gets into position on his hands and knees, ass in the air. He wiggles it a little. Jim smacks him. Billy moans like someone just stroked his cock. 

The kid likes getting slapped around. Quite literally begs for it sometimes. Jim never really hurts him. He’ll indulge in a little roughhousing, though. 

Jim bends down. He grabs Billy’s ass and spreads it again. He spits, then flicks his tongue out. He hears Billy’s whimpering. Lets his mind wander. 

He remembers the smell of incense. Soft brown skin underneath his hands. Tight heat around his dick. Heavy, humid air in a stuffy room draped in tapestries. That was the first time he fucked someone in the ass. The first time he put his hand around someone else’s dick. It felt so separated from reality, from everything back home, he had no problem pretending it didn’t happen for years and years.

Billy is immediate. He’s visceral. He’s loud and demanding when they’re together, ever present in Jim’s brain anytime they’re apart, unwilling to be ignored. 

Jim gets a thumb in Billy’s hole without any trouble. He licks around it. Billy’s carrying on like a bitch in heat. He flutters around Jim’s thumb. Takes a couple more fingers without any trouble. Jim fucked him yesterday in the men’s locker room at the pool. Billy let him in right before closing. Billy’s moans echo even louder on all that tile. He looked real slutty, fingers splayed against the shower wall, cheek pressed into the tile, eyes closed, lips parted in a gasp. 

That’s the thing. Billy’s real pretty. He’s angular, and masculine, with a scruffy mustache and a scarred eyebrow. He’s got washboard abs and thick thighs. He’s got a nice ass, a pierced ear, and a pornstar’s mouth. He’s prettier than half the women in Hawkins. And he wants Jim. 

He’s a persistent little bastard, who obviously isn’t used to taking no for an answer. Attractive enough that his flirting is clumsy and too forward. After about the fourth time Jim hauled him into the station for public intoxication, Billy dropped to his knees in Jim’s office. 

_“What the hell are you doing?”_

_“Getting out of a ticket.”_

_“That ain’t gonna work.”_

_“OK. I wanna do it anyway.”_

_“I’m not some kinda queer.”_

_“Then why are you getting hard?”_

_“Because you keep—touching me. Quit it.”_

_“C’mon. I won’t tell anyone. It’s not gay to get a blowjob. Just let me. I’m legal.”_

_“You’re still real young. You’re drunk.”_

_“Yeah. You’re old and you’re fat. Are we stating other obvious things, or you gonna let me suck your dick?”_

Of course, Jim let him. It was probably an unforgivable lapse in judgment. After you cross the boundary once, why not do it again? And again. Until it’s happening most nights of the week. 

Billy has started to murmur, _fuck me, please, need it_ . Jim’s straining in his jeans. He’s never been all that great about denying himself the little things. Just one more donut. One more drink. One last kiss that leads to a sleazy fuck, which means Jim’s awful at letting the past die. He’s still chasing Joyce Byers, like he has been since high school. He’s still on his Hawaiian honeymoon with Diane, fucking on the beach in the moonlight. He’s still on a straw mattress, in a tiny room in Saigon, with a kid named _Giang_ who spoke enough stilted english to call Jim _handsome American_ and tell him how much it cost. Giang was maybe about Billy’s age, which was less of a gap back then. He was far from the only one to offer some company to a soldier on shore leave. But he found Jim alone at the bar. He was pretty, with long dark hair and bright eyes. Jim paid more than the asking price, plus a pack of smokes. Went back every day for a week, until he knocked at the usual time and when Giang opened the door there was a girl holding a baby sitting on the little carved wooden chair in the corner. Giang said, _my wife._ Then asked, _they wait outside?_ Jim shoved money at him and left. Embarrassed for reasons he couldn’t articulate. 

Jim leaves pieces of himself everywhere and can’t go back for them. He’s always fighting the last war. Billy isn’t a hooker, and Jim doesn’t quite understand his angle. He’s not sure what Billy wants from this. He hopes it’s not anything too complicated. Jim’s bad at complicated, even if things usually seem to end up that way. 

“Hop, _please_.” Billy squirms, pushing back against Jim’s hand. Greedy little thing. 

Jim withdraws his fingers and steps back. “You said something about me fucking your throat, didn’t you?”

“Shit. Yeah.” Billy’s breathing heavy. He moves quick. Spreads out on his back, with his head hanging off the edge of the hatch. Sometimes Jim worries about the cables holding. He’s not too worried right now. 

He unzips his jeans and shoves them down around his thighs. Billy opens his mouth. Moans when Jim rubs the head of his dick over those silky pink lips. Then Jim slides forward. Slides in far. Nudges against Billy’s tonsils without preamble. Billy’s throat constricts a little. Jim fucks into Billy’s mouth like it’s a dripping wet cunt. It’s honestly better than a lot of the pussy in Hawkins. The best head Jim’s gotten for years and years. Maybe the best period. 

Billy gags when Jim pushes into his throat. It feels so fucking good. Jim can’t make himself pull back. He goes deeper. Rests his hand right below Billy’s chin. He can feel himself moving, the distended skin and muscle. This is what Jim jerks off to these days. He’s so lost in it, he wants to ignore the tap on his hip. He reigns himself in, though. He pulls out to let Billy cough. Billy’s eyes are watering. Jim should probably feel guilty and he doesn’t. 

“You all right, kid?”

“Yeah.” Billy’s voice is raspy. Rubbed raw. “I can take a little more. Just couldn’t breathe.”

Jim doesn’t need to be told twice. He shoves right back in. This time he thrusts a little faster. He keeps a hand around Billy’s throat, squeezes even. It’s intoxicating, feeling himself fuck a tight hole from the inside and out. Jim’s grunting. Feels a little wild. Like a brutish, untamed thing. He’s never been so rough with a woman. Knows he can’t be. He’s too big, too strong, he could hurt somebody if he’s not careful. 

But Billy. Well, Billy can take it. 

He loves it, by all appearances. He’s squirming. Touching himself. When he taps out again, he’s squeezing the base of his dick like he’s afraid he might lose control before the main event. 

“Fuck my ass.” Billy whispers. “C’mon. Want your fat dick in me when I come.”

It’s dirty. Dirtier than Jim’s ever been talked to. It lights a fire in him. He heaves himself up into the truckbed. He kicks off his boots. Billy plasters up against him, grabbing him, rubbing his cock, kissing his neck, nakedly desperate to touch and be touched. 

“How do you want me?” Billy breathes. 

“Thought you were gonna ride my dick ‘like you’re mad at it.’”

“Yeah. Fuck yeah.”

Jim stretches out on his back. Billy unbuttons Jim’s shirt and pulls his jeans all the way off before climbing on top of him. Billy’s always hungry for skin on skin. He grinds against Jim’s stomach, presses kisses against the side of his mouth. Billy’s dick is a little slippery, hard and twitching. 

“Lube?” Billy nips at Jim’s neck. “I mean. Spit might be enough but like—I’d need a few days after that and I don’t wanna wait a few days, y’know.”

“You’re insatiable. It’s not news.”

Jim roots around for the tub of Vaseline he shoved in the corner. He finds it, unscrews the lid and holds it out to Billy. Things move fast after that. Billy just takes a scoop of it, shoves it in his ass. Then he slicks up Jim’s cock and sinks onto it in a single motion. 

They both groan. Billy is tight. Fits like a glove. He’s so warm on the inside. Jim just wants to stay there forever. Billy starts to move, slow and filthy at first, like he’s trying to keep as much of Jim in him as possible.

“You’re so big,” Billy gasps.

“Yeah, baby. I know.” Jim winks. It’s one thing he’s always had going for him. It’s long and thick. Not so long it hurts—he’s been told. Just like he’s been told that thick is the important part. He’s apparently got a Goldilocks thing going, just right to hit all the hot spots. Just enough to be overwhelming but not entirely unmanageable. 

Billy’s not small by any means. Jim still enjoys being bigger by at least an inch, probably closer to two. He gets the feeling Billy would be insufferable otherwise. 

“I hate you.” Billy leans back a little, braces his hands on Jim’s thighs. 

“So you’ve said.”

Billy uses the new leverage to really start fucking himself. He’s loud. Almost louder than the awful music still playing in his car. Heavy metal. Thumping drums and distorted guitars. Nothing like CCR, or the sort of records Jim keeps in his cabin. He can forgive bad taste when it’s probably the only reason Billy’s here. If Billy liked things that were good for him, he’d stay far away from this sort of late nights debauchery. 

“Call me names.” Billy manages to say between shaky breaths and the echo of skin slapping together. 

Jim does him one better and smacks both his ass cheeks. “You’re the biggest whore I’ve ever met and I don’t even pay you for it.”

Billy shudders. Rides Jim even harder. 

“You must really hate your dad if you’re this desperate to piss him off. What do you think he’d say if he knew what a slutty faggot you are, huh?”

“He’d try to fight you.” Billy’s eyes are closed, his mouth hangs open, he gasps every time he slams down on Jim’s dick. “Then he’d probably try to kill me.”

“Wouldn’t get the chance. I’d win.”

“You would.” Billy moans. “Bet you could knock him out in one swing. Fuck.”

“Maybe pop a few of his teeth out while I’m at it.”

“I want you to fuck me like a bitch on all fours while he’s passed out in a pool of his own blood.”

Jim’s not really sure why that’s an appealing idea. He can’t deny that it is. Makes sense on some horrible, feral level. _If you want me, you’ve gotta fight my dad for it._ Lord knows Jim never got along with Diane’s father. Anyone’s father. Even his own. Jim’s a little too big, and a little too mouthy, and even an involuntary stint in the US army didn’t fix that. Jim’s been physically intimidating to grown men since he was about fourteen years old. He had to _become_ the authority figure to stop getting in fights with them. 

“‘M close,” Billy shifts forward. He braces his hands on either side of Jim’s head. He slows down a little, losing focus once his cock is trapped between them. The extra stimulation is apparently quite distracting. 

Jim grabs Billy’s hips and starts to thrust up into him. Billy gives up on moving. He just takes what Jim gives him. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat. A few beads gather and drip down onto Jim’s face. It should be unpleasant, like the scrape of Billy’s patchy facial hair and the weight-lifting calluses on his hands. Billy is pretty, but he’s so achingly masculine. Jim shouldn’t find it appealing.

And yet, he does. 

“You come so easy, baby.” Jim grins. “Good thing you’re a queer. You’d never last long enough to satisfy a woman.”

“I’ve—ughn—fucked plenty of girls.”

“Oh yeah?” Jim slams into him particularly hard. “That’s not what you crave though, is it? You just want a big dick in your ass.”

“Shut up.”

“You love this. You’re desperate for it. You’re my little cockslut.”

“Fuck,” Billy’s voice cracks. He squeezes down around Jim so sweet. His whole body jerks. He grinds on Jim’s dick even as he squirts jizz everywhere, still needy for it. 

Jim flips them over. Gets Billy on his back, pushes his legs up, so his thighs are almost touching his stomach. Jim fucks back into him like a man possessed. Billy’s shaking under him. Whimpering _yes, yes, yes, come in me, give it to me_. 

It feels too good. Jim’s hot all over. Wants with an urgency that’s kind of scary. Billy’s like the first hit off a piece of tin foil, sucking the poppy tar smoke up into a straw. Bone-rocking pleasure that’s liable to be the end of you. Jim made a point to never find out where to get the stuff in the states. He didn’t go looking for Billy. He wouldn’t have. But Billy found him. Jim’s not gonna stop indulging anytime soon.

Jim thrusts hard enough it must hurt. Billy’s flushed, wrecked, a mess in every possible capacity. The truck rocks on its wheels. Jim feels twenty years younger, a whole lot stupider, and for half a moment maybe he wants to fall in love. 

He comes hard. Stops breathing. He pushes deep into Billy as he can and stays there, snarling as the rush almost knocks him sideways. Billy’s already grabbing at him. Tugging him down into a messy smear of lips. Jim rocks into him a little as their tongues brush against each other, bodies sticky, Billy’s come getting tacky between them. 

“Well goddamn, Chief.” Billy sighs when they break apart. “I think you owe me a cigarette.”

Jim snorts. “They’re in the cup holder. You getting up to grab them?”

“Hell no.”

“Tough shit, I ain’t either.”

Jim is starting to soften. He pulls out with a slick noise. Billy’s a mess of Vaseline and ejaculate. It’s dripping out onto the blanket. Jim stretches out beside him. Billy crowds against him, resting his head on Jim’s shoulder. He’s usually a little sweet in the afterglow. Won’t last long. Jim enjoys the moment while he can.

“Your kid home?”

“Yeah. Hopefully asleep.”

“Lame.”

“What, you trying to invite yourself over?”

“Mmmm. I was thinking about you fucking me in the middle of the night. Sleepy morning sex ain’t bad either.” Billy drapes his arm across Jim’s chest. It’s almost affectionate. Billy’s a cat that will pretend he just likes the body heat, just licks your skin for the salt. 

“Well, we’ll see if she wants to stay with the Byers sometime soon.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

The sky is dotted with stars, not many clouds to obstruct the view. Billy stays curled against Jim until the sweat starts to cool and the soft breeze becomes a nuisance. 

“Same time tomorrow?” Billy sits up, stretches, all his sinew moving under tanned skin.

“Probably a little later. Was gonna go for a beer with Callahan after work.”

“Can I come?”

“No. You can’t come have a drink with two cops who both know you’re barely eighteen.”

“What’s even the point of fucking you if it doesn’t mean I can break laws.”

Jim just swats Billy on the thigh. Billy darts down to kiss him one last time before hopping out of the truck. 

“I’m going for a swim,” he calls over his shoulder, already halfway to the water.

“Have fun with that.”

Jim gets himself dressed and presentable as he can be before climbing out of the truckbed. He closes the hatch, and walks around to the side of his truck. He leaves a couple cigarettes on the hood of Billy’s car. He lights one up for himself once he’s in the driver’s seat, with the window down and the engine rumbling. Maybe he takes a few extra minutes to watch Billy surface and dive under the water, swimming in long broad strokes out towards the middle of the lake.

It’s possible Billy’s a siren leading a stupid man towards his death on the rocks, or at least a ruined reputation and career. It’s a risk/benefit analysis Jim calculates almost daily. 

Trouble is, Jim’s never been too good at math.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Walkin' After Midnight' by Patsy Cline.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/).


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